


The Defense Attorney

by ellahj99



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, I'm Sorry, Lawyer, M/M, Modern AU, PTSD, Stucky - Freeform, i dont even know au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellahj99/pseuds/ellahj99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve Rogers stumbles upon the case of a lifetime, defending the infamous Bucky Barnes, he jumps at the opportunity, unaware of what it will bring. As he fights against the public, trying to show the world the goodness in his client, he soon learns that the line between a professional and a personal relationship is beginning to blur...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Defense Attorney

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is my first marvel fanfic i hope it doesn't suck :)

"What would you like to talk about today, James?" The quiet, monotonous white noise machine hummed in response. "I'm on your side, James. I'm here to help." Again, silence. Tucking a rebellious strand of unnaturally blonde hair behind her ear, the mundane, government-mandated therapist rapped her pen against her clipboard, frustrated. The man sitting across from her, clutching a throw pillow tightly between white knuckles, stared back at her behind juxtaposing long, stringy, brown locks. He sat, completely still, completely silent. And this frustrated her. "James, please, say something. There's a reason you're here, you know. Do you know why you're here?" she pressed, too hard.  
He knew. He knew all too well. The memories came flooding back, consuming him, inundating him like a tidal wave. _Too much._ Too much screaming, too much fighting, too much conflict. A hand, his hand, reaching out and ripping, tearing, strangling, killing. Out of control. He remembered running, fleeing, because these people, these bodies left in his wake, were not the enemies. No, he left the enemies when he left the war. No, this carnage, this massacre, was entirely composed of his own people. But instead of screaming, crying out after waking up from the same nightmare, he sat in silence. Finally, he uttered through gritted teeth, "My name is Bucky."  
...  
Approximately seventeen and three-quarters blocks southwest of that particularly tedious "therapy session", one Steve Rogers, or "just Steve" as he preferred his clients to call him, was loading a notoriously outdated laptop into an even more beat up leather briefcase.  
"You know, Steve, if you weren't so hell-bent on helping any and every case that walked through this door, you might actually be able to afford a computer that works," teased Sam from across the cramped, dingy office.  
Turning to face his partner, but more importantly, his friend, Steve explained, "If I'm not going to help them, then who will? When I became a lawyer-"  
"Not this again," Sam groaned.  
"As I was saying, when I became a lawyer, I made a vow to fight for my people, to speak for the voiceless, to raise up the oppressed, to save those waiting for salvation-"  
"Blah, blah, blah. Help everyone, I get it, but who's paying the bills? Steve, if you don't learn how to say "no", we'll be bankrupt in a month! How do you plan on saving people then?" This argument had been rehashed many nights, all completely identical to this one. When they were in law school, life had been smooth sailing. Now, everything was changing. The world did not function like a flawless machine, every case was not a textbook problem, and it was increasingly difficult to choose between the moral and lucrative options.  
"Sam, you know me, I'll figure something out. Plus, I happen to like my computer," Steve flashed a smile and darted towards the door, anxious to leave the conflict far behind him.  
"Steve, you can't just flash your perfect smile and wink your blue eyes and avoid the real issues! Reality always catches up," Sam warned, but that familiar blond head atop a spectacularly formidable stature was already gone.  
As soon as his perfectly polished oxfords hit the pavement, Steve began to run. Disregarding how strange he must appear to curious onlookers, he kept his eyes trained on the ground, watching line after line between the cement blocks until they became indistinguishable from one another. He ran. The wind ran its spindly tendrils through his hair, and he felt free, unobstructed. He ran. Unsure of what could happen tomorrow, Steve dodged between cars, not bothering to stop at any red lights in favor of making the trip in one go. He ran. Past the towering buildings, now irrelevant, past the ogling glances and indiscreet fingers pointed towards him, happily ignored, he charged away from reality, as if he could outrun time itself. He ran. Down a block, a few sharp lefts, and he stood, panting, gasping, at the red front door of his apartment. After unlocking the door, he promptly situated himself on the single piece of furniture occupying what should be his living room: a dearly loved, well used, red clothed couch. Red door, red couch, red hot anger at the world. Steve flicked the TV remote on, because you can't leave reality forever.  
Compared to the smiling face adorning the reporter, the aggressive headline, the focus of all the local news stations at the moment, demanded an immediate reaction. "Public Outraged Over Savage Massacre" it read. Steve turned up the volume, desperate for more information. "Local authorities have identified the murderer as former officer, James Buchanan Barnes. At his hearing, his lawyer testified that Barnes was mentally incapacitated due to his traumatic experiences in a prisoner of war camp, and Barnes left the trial unscathed, only required to see a therapist. Now, the people are outraged. The cry for blood echoes through the streets here; people say "therapy will not prevent another outburst" and that Barnes needs to be put in prison to prevent any further loss of life. We have reached out to Barnes' attorney, but were unable to get a comment at this time..."  
Steve's fingers were already punching in one of the only few numbers he had memorized, and Sam picked up by the third ring.  
"Steve, what do you want? I'm trying to eat dinner. Now, if you're calling to apologize-"  
"No time for that now, Sam. I think I just found us a new case."


End file.
